Bed of Roses
by Mirrordance
Summary: After two years of semi-retirement from Kritiker, Ran and Yoji return to action when they discover the new 'target' is a murderous, out-of-control Siberian
1. Default Chapter

Author: Mirrordance

E-mail: mirror_dance2@hotmail.com

Title: Bed of Roses

Type: part 1/6

Spoilers: generally, with references to entire series 

Warnings: drama, angst, language, violence, yaoi

Teaser: After two years of semi-retirement from Kritiker, Ran and Yoji return to action when they discover the new target is a murderous, out-of-control Siberian 

Note: Chapter 1 is an old fic from May 2001 called "Heights."  "Bed of Roses" can probably stand without it and vice versa, because both began as different fics.  However, dealing with the same issues, I decided to merge them.  Those who have kept correspondence with me and was privy to the information that "Heights" had long been planned as the first part of a trilogy, might know that "Bed of Roses" is not the original sequel/continuation, but I thought this might be more fitting instead.  

"Bed of Roses"

a WKff by Mirrordance

don't own anybody…

CHAPTER 1: Heights

      Yoji Kudou knew very little fear in his life.

      As a kid, it was strange how he had feared darkness.  How funny it was to think about that.  Fear of darkness is so difficult to reconcile with his current profession.  He sought out the darkness, now.  Was a part of it, in some other life that not many people understood.

      After that, his fear had been borne of losing loved-ones.  He had no family left, barely enough real friends (though there had been quite a string of girlfriends).  He had lost his partner Asuka.  And later, a call girl who aided him during a mission, Maki.

      After that, his fear had been that he would lose himself.  Almost had, with two devastating loses.  But then, he never counted on killing Neu, the deceptive Schreint agent who had fooled him.  It doesn't help at all that she looked just like Asuka.

      Flesh was such a goddamn boundary.  Some fucking hindrance.  People die all the time, but why did he have to have such a huge piece out of the mortality pie?

      After that, he knew to stick to simpler things.  Love was one heck of a complication.  He knew to stick to those who would be most dependable.

      Weiß.  Also known as his friends.  They were survivors, the four of them.  With Manx, a relatively distant second.  They'll live forever.  He'll never have to face loss again.

      It's been awhile since fear hit him.  That tightness in your gut.  The queasiness in your stomach.  The way you felt cold even when it was warm.  The way the hair on the back of your neck stood.  Like freezing silver, creeping through your veins and spreading slowly throughout your entire body.

      Yes.  It's been awhile.

      But fear… it hit him then.

      He was standing by the door to the moonlit kitchen, silent and captivated by the morbid sight that greeted his eyes.

      Ken Hidaka, in his bloodied mission clothes.  It's been hours since they returned home and yet there he was, still in those stinking things.  His bugnuks still on his hands, as he stood by the sink.

      Ken didn't seem to know he was watching.  It seemed as if the brunette was deep into a world of his own.

      Blood.

      So much, so much, so much.

      The smell of it was killing him.  The feel of it, caked on his skin and his clothes.  On his soul.  It would be pretty fucking hard to wash them off, dried up on him as they were.  And yet it hardly mattered.

      It was beautiful.

      A shade so deep, so rich.  Redder than a rose.  Languid as it flows, like poetry.  And as it dries, a cracking rust red, like the Earth.  Soil and life.

      Grinning a little, he started drawing patterns of blood on the white tiles.  The long, graceful fingers grazing through the sterile blankness, giving it vivid red life.

      It was so beautiful…

      And suddenly the smell, the metallic tang, was more welcome than anything in the world.  He wanted it.  Stuck to his flesh, stuck to his soul and drowning every single one of his senses.

      He's never felt so fucking alive.

      He looked at the bloodied metal claws at the backs of his hands.

      What would it taste like?

      Chuckling a little, he thought about God and Eve and Adam.  About the woman who had been tempted by a snake in the Garden of Eden, to taste the fruit and know things that only God knew.

      The apple, incidentally, had been pretty damn blood red too.

      Yoji stiffened as he watched Ken raise his hand up to his mouth, and watched his tongue tease at the bloodied blades.  Tasting first.  Trying.  Then liking.  And taking again.

      He gulped, in remembrance of Weiß's old enemies.  One of Schwarz, the pallid, scarred Irishman, licked blood off his knife all the time.  From the scars on his body, some of them might have been his own, though Yoji was sure most came from unwilling victims.

      He watched Ken, fearing.

      Fearing for himself, that he might ever come close to that state of mind.  And feeling for his friend, losing himself.

      Farfello, Yoji recalled, had been Ken's personal nemesis.  The literally unfeeling villain, and Ken, who always felt so much.  Too much, sometimes.

      "You're becoming," Yoji said, stepping forward, "Exactly what you've always hated."

      Yoji watched Ken stiffen, but that was the only indication that he had been surprised by this arrival.  Or affected by the observation.  Ken lowered his hands to his sides.

      Yoji stared at him.  Unable to set aside the madness that had touched that young, innocent face.

      The insanity had probably begun long before.

      Ken had been forced to kill his own best friend, as he dealt with the years of love and betrayal that stood between him and that goddamn Kase.

      After that, the onset had been slow, but sure.  Yoji hated it that he did not see it coming.  He hated it more that he was helpless in trying to stop it.

      Ken rose and fell, riding a parabola of moods that took him from guilt to bloodlust in a wild, merciless and never ending roller coaster.  Other times he was so happy it's as if he had successfully convinced himself that nothing ever happened.

      There had to be something he could do.

      "Didn't know you were still awake," Ken said coolly, discreetly wiping at the blood drawings on the tile.  Pale streaks of the telling red remained.

      Yoji shrugged, stepped forward again, slowly closing the distance between them.  "It's three in the morning, Ken.  Go to sleep.  You're tired."

      Ken bit his lip in thought.  Said nothing, but held his ground.

      "Fine," Yoji said, bracing his hands on the counter and sitting atop it as he pulled out a cigarette, "Since we're both here, I think we need to talk."

      "I have nothing to say--"

      "Good 'cos I do," Yoji said, his smugness hiding the rage and the fear that threatened to overwhelm him, "You're seriously fucked up."

      "Don't I know it."

      --

      Yoji took a long drag from his cigarette, his eyes never leaving the face of the younger man.  Ken met his gaze squarely.

      The silence was thick with things unsaid, screaming for words.  It was then that Yoji suddenly realized he didn't know how to say what he wanted to say.

      He disposed of the cigarette disgustedly, annoyed at himself.

      "Is that all?" Ken asked him coolly.

      Yoji's voice softened, his emerald eyes searching the other's face earnestly.

      "Don't ever be like them, Ken."

      --

      Yoji tore his gaze away, feeling the contempt in the other man.  The disgust, the denial.  The internal struggle that found no other recourse but to toss all the animosity toward the only one who was trying to help him.

      "Like who?" Ken asked darkly.

      "You know who," Yoji replied.

      "Well I resent that."

      --

      What had it been, about this mission that pushed him to the edge? What was so different about it, than any other night, any other kill?

      "Tell me what you're thinking," Yoji insisted.

      "I'm thinking I'm no more screwed up than any of the rest of us," Ken replied, "I'm no more screwed up than you."

      --

      "How the fuck did the blood taste, Ken?"

      "Salty," Ken answered, not missing a beat, "Metallic.  Familiar."

      --

      "I fail to see the point of this conversation," Ken commented, pulling off his gloves and setting them on the sink.

      "I'm telling you that it's just a job," said Yoji, "I'm telling you that don't let it consume you.  I'm telling you that if you need to talk--"

      "I get it, I get it," Ken cut him off, "Heard it all before.  Easier said than done, though, isn't it? You know what's pretty fucking easy, though? If you have to do it, you might as well fucking enjoy it."

      --

      "I can't believe you just said that."

      Ken looked away, jaw set.  His eyes were overbright, even in the darkness.  He looked young and tired.

      "I'm not like them," said Ken, "I'm not."

      "I know," said Yoji, "Just don't be."

      "I don't want to be like them," said Ken shakily, "I don't want to kill for fun.  I don't want to betray my friends.  I don't want to want blood.  I don't want to… be like them…"

      Yoji moved closer, wary of human contact and at the same time, feeling it was somehow needed.

      Ken looked down at the bloody tiles and his bloody clothes.  Bloody everything.  They blurred and spun and melded together, looking like a nightmare.  He suddenly couldn't breathe.  It was going to eat him.  He was going to drown in it.  Choke on it.  All he could see is red.  It's all he could smell and all he could taste.

      "I'm scared shitless," Ken said with a nervous, ironic and completely joyless chuckle as he glanced at Yoji.

      "You know most people who are really very afraid of heights are usually the ones who jump from buildings and kill themselves," Yoji said.

      "Oh?" Ken asked, in such a way that Yoji got the distinct impression he was wondering how this was important to him.  
      "Yeah," added Yoji, "They just got so tired of being afraid."

      --

      "Don't let me fall, Yoji."

      "Don't jump," the older man said wryly, "Hang on to me instead."

      --

      "I'll never let go," Ken promised.

      "Good," Yoji commented, slinging one arm around the younger man's shoulders and leading the way up toward their apartments, "Come on, I'm sleepy.  Clean up and go to bed."

      Ken was a mess, and after this, so would be Yoji, who had just freshened up.

      But maybe that was the point.  If you shared it, maybe it wasn't too heavy, wasn't too dirty, wasn't too bad.

* * *


	2. Good Night

Author: Mirrordance

E-mail: mirror_dance2@hotmail.com

Title: Bed of Roses

Type: part 2/6

Spoilers: generally, with references to entire series 

Warnings: drama, angst, language, violence, yaoi

Teaser: After two years of semi-retirement from Kritiker, Ran and Yoji return to action when they discover the new target is a murderous, out-of-control Siberian 

"Bed of Roses"

a WKff by Mirrordance

don't own anybody…

CHAPTER TWO: Goodnight 

      Ran had to admit that it was a work of genius on Kudou's part.

There had been a story there, he knew.  One night it was one way, come the morning it was another.  No one was telling him what had happened.  But it was fine.  He himself had his own secrets, it wasn't at all in his place to insist.

He wasn't a fool, even if he did have some kind of tendency to turn a blind eye.  Ken was goddamn troubled, but, as he thought… one night it was one way, come the morning it was another.  Kudou must have said something.  Ken seemed stronger now, stiller, like he had found his rock.  Kudou, of all people, who was a goddamn piece of work himself…

Yoji hadn't said it expressly, but he had adroitly maneuvered Ken into patching up the injured Weiß after every mission.  Ken didn't have Omi's gentle little hands, but he was getting better.  It took Ran a few nights to realize what Kudou was trying to do.  He was trying to re-condition Ken to a more constructive reality, after the destruction wrought by his claws, his job, that cursed other life.  Fixing people instead of killing them.

Some nights though, his heavy needlework hurt so much it felt like the same goddamn thing.  

Ran was on his back half-lying in bed, his booted feet still on the floor.  Ken was looming over him, the first aid kit on one hand, chewing on the inside of his mouth, thinking.

"Want me to try saving your shirt?" he asked.

Ran lifted his head up enough to look at his chest area.  There was a long, ragged gash there, which had broken his shirt diagonally across the middle, as surely as it had broken his skin underneath it.  He shook his head, then let it fall back on the mattress.

"I didn't think so," said Ken, grabbing the scissors and cutting Ran's shirt open.  He grabbed the bottle of disinfectant, dabbed it on some cotton.  He was about to put it against Ran's broken skin, when he paused and looked at the redhead.  "Tell me if it hurts and I should stop, ok?"

Ran just grunted an acknowledgement.

Ken shrugged, as he brought the cotton down on the skin.  

Ran sucked in a breath.  It fucking stung.  His eyes glazed, his jaw set, his body stiffened.

"As if you really would," Ken spoke as he worked through the long gash, trying to distract Ran from the pain, and trying to distract himself from Ran, "Tell me if it hurts, I mean.  I don't know why I bother asking.  I should know you by now…"

He put down the infernal cotton and took out the hellish needle, threaded it almost-expertly.

"When I work on Yoji's wounds," said Ken, "he keeps a bottle of liquor around.  It's what I put on his skin, to avoid infection," he chuckles, "Incidentally, it's also what he puts in his mouth, to avoid the sting.  You wouldn't happen to want any?"

Ran shook his head, grit his teeth, wishing him to just get it all over with.

Ken shook his head in amusement, smiled and put the needle through Ran's skin, piercing, binding one broken end to another.  It was a neat stitch.  

"I can see all my other works mapping your skin," said Ken, pausing from his sewing to glance at Ran's other chest scars, "I'm not bad at it at all, don't you think? Most of them are fading nicely."

Ken continued to work, quiet for a moment, but only for a little while.  Ran's silence was so (ironically), potently blank it begged to be filled.  

"You don't pay much attention to it," said Ken, "but really, when I stop doing this for you, you'll miss it."

He had a funny tone.  Ran picked this up because he was an astute man.  But he kept his mouth shut.  Not because he didn't care, but he didn't know precisely how to show it.  And Ran Fujimiya didn't go into things blindly, after all.  Didn't act until he knew for sure.  It was a good thing to have in missions, but not for the rest of his life.  And he did have a life outside of the job.  He was just (mostly) unfortunately that way.

Ken finished up the rest of the stitches.  He neatly cut the thread, then started to put the first aid kit in order.  It was at this time that Ran grabbed his elbow, stopping him from his quick, graceful movements.

Ken looked at him, met his eyes.  They were a disconcertingly beautiful amethyst.  They shone like jewels, burnt like lasers.

"Wait," Ran said.

And Ken did.  Because Ran said so.  Because he seldom said anything, you might as well follow.

Ran pushed himself up to his elbows, making Ken roll his eyes back in profound irritation.

"You'll tear my stitches, damn you," Ken muttered, helping him to a sitting position anyway.

"Your hand," said Ran, nodding to Ken's hastily bandaged right hand, blood already starting to stain its ragged gauze.

"I can handle that," Ken assured him.

"Don't be stubborn," Ran said, motioning for the first aid kit.  Ken sat beside him hesitantly.  Ran caught his eye, looked at him with suspicion, an artfully slight arc of the brow.

"Of course I'm squeamish," Ken said sheepishly, "this is the first time you'd stitch me up.  It was usually Omi.  Sometimes Yoji.  Never you."

"They must be asleep by now," said Ran, hardly offended, taking Ken's injured hand and unwrapping it.

Ken let him work in silence.  He wanted to see if Ran would feel the need to say anything, if he didn't.  If Ran would fill the void, if Ken just let it stay hanging in the air.  Ran didn't.  And Ken couldn't keep himself from filling that yawning space.

He usually didn't mind.  There was no point in minding Ran's nasty non-habit of speaking because… well Ran was Ran.  Ken had grown used to it.  But tonight was different.  Tonight was special.  Tonight couldn't end as Ran was ending it.  Tonight couldn't be like the other nights…

Ran paused from almost touching the cotton with the antiseptic to Ken's skin.  His eyes almost teased.  He had thought of a kind-of joke.  Ken would find it funny.

"Tell me if it hurts and I should stop," he said, mimicking the brunette's exact words from earlier, except his face was carefully bland.  Only his eyes danced.

It made Ken smile a bit.  He was obviously pleasantly surprised.  It was so easy to make him smile, he had always been generous with his joy.  It was all the grief he kept within that worried Ran, however.  All that pent-up rage.  He had to spread some of that animosity around, before it makes him spontaneously combust.

Ken bit his lip as Ran disinfected the wound, then stitched at it.  Ken watched Ran's face.  His brows creased just-so, in a look of concentration that Ken didn't even see in missions.  He wanted to chuckle because it was funny, Ran was more careful with his injured hand than he was juggling lives.  But he bit his lip instead.  If he opened his mouth he could have yelped at the pain, and that would be profoundly embarrassing.

"You're not half-bad," Ken said when Ran had finished and he could finally exhale.  It hurt like blazes but Ran had been very gentle.  "I'm better though."

Ken had seen a corner of Ran's lip turn up in a smile.  It was enough, to keep him lingering, to keep him from leaving the room.

"You never have to say much," said Ken, "to get the things you want."

Ran's brows rose.  Challenging him to say precisely what Ken thought he wanted.

Ken laughed, shook his head.  "You would rather waste time than words, wouldn't you?"

Ran's jaw set.  That hadn't been a very nice thing to say.  Then again, it hadn't been a very untrue thing to say either.

Ran started to put the first aid kit back in order.  Ken knew the welcome mat had been pulled from under him.

He got to his feet, turned his head toward Ran's, inviting the other man to look at him and meet his eyes.

"Good night, you," said Ken, flashing him a smile, then turning away to leave, and he really, truly did.

* * *

      Ran stood by the door and stared at the empty room.  The furniture was still there, yes, but it remained profoundly empty.  Because his dirty laundry wasn't scattered on the floor, because there was none of his clothes around, none of the things that really mattered to him.  It was never this clean.  It was never this hollow.  All traces of Ken ever having been here was gone.  It wasn't his room anymore.  It wasn't anyone's.  It was just a room, now.

      Ran tore himself away from the horrid sight.  Across the way was Omi's room.  It was just as empty.  Well… not really.  Devoid of Omi and anything that was distinctly his, but Yoji was there, standing in the middle of the room, smoking a cigarette the scent of which Omi would have hated to have in his private space.  

      Yoji said nothing, though Ran knew he knew he was there, watching.  He was taking his time smoking the entire cigarette.  He also took the liberty of scattering the ash on the floor.

      "Where's Ken and Omi?" asked Ran.

      Yoji turned to face him, blinked in confusion.  "Who's that?"

      --

      Yoji gave him a sour grin.  "Not funny, I know.  I'm sorry.  I couldn't resist.  I wanted to see your face if you thought Omi and Ken never existed and were all a dream and…" he sighed, "you know what? Never mind."

      "Where are they?" Ran asked again.

      "I obviously don't know," snapped Yoji, "This is a fucking nightmare.  It's like sleeping with two gorgeous women.  You wake up, they're gone.  And you have to wonder if it was just a kind of masturbatory fantasy…"

      --

      "Except they're not women," Yoji said quickly, "It's a bad analogy… but you get the frustration, eh?"

      --

      "Or maybe not," Yoji conceded, sighing heavily, "I can't believe they left me with you."

      "Manx would know," said Ran.

      "She would, wouldn't she?" Yoji chuckled bitterly, "Would it surprise you if I said I reached her and she said Ken and Omi have been reassigned? God knows why…"

      Ran stared at Yoji, said nothing.  He inhaled deeply, then turned away from Yoji, who watched his back in wonder.  Ran headed straight for his room, carefully locking the door behind him.  

This couldn't be happening.  This couldn't be true.  

He grabbed his cell phone.  Stared at it.  Would he call them…? No.  They left.  That's their decision.  No one ever said anything about this goddamn group staying together forever.  No one ever said anything about anyone giving a damn.  Especially not him.  Not then.  And no, not even now.

Hopelessly and angrily, he ran his hands through his hair.

Goddamn.

* * *


	3. Stranger

Author: Mirrordance

E-mail: mirror_dance2@hotmail.com

Title: Bed of Roses

Type: part 3/6

Spoilers: generally, with references to entire series 

Warnings: drama, angst, language, violence, yaoi

Teaser: After two years of semi-retirement from Kritiker, Ran and Yoji return to action when they discover the new target is a murderous, out-of-control Siberian

"Bed of Roses"

a WKff by Mirrordance

don't own anybody…

CHAPTER THREE: Stranger

TWO YEARS LATER

      The wind was whistling in the night outside.  It was the rainy season, and it was blistering cold.  The pitter-patter of the first rain drops graced his bedroom window, making strange rhythms and stranger patterns on the glass.  The sounds shouldn't have been loud enough to wake him up, but they did, because… well because there was a presence nearby that was far more potent than the coming storm.

      Yoji shot up in bed, his eyes immediately finding...

      "Omi," he said, a little bit awed.

      A tight smile.  The blue eyes were beautifully glacial, deeper and darker than he remembered.  His blonde hair was sandier now, or maybe it was just the moonlight, playing with its color.  Longer, too.  It teased the collar of his all-black outfit.  He was leaner, now, his face showing the elegant bones that were only shadows and promises before, when he was younger.  And taller.  Omi was taller now too.

      "How long has it been?" Yoji asked, just to make conversation.  Because he knew, for god's sake, he knew it by heart.  It's been a little over two years since Ken and Omi had vanished from their lives.

      "Two years," Omi replied, keeping his voice down, moving forward and sitting next to Yoji in bed, "How are you?"

      "What?" asked Yoji testily, "you're suddenly just taking an interest? I don't mean to sound like your wife or your mother, Omi, but it would have been nice if you and the jock at least said goodbye, or called up once to say you're both still alive."

      "We weren't supposed to," answered Omi tentatively.

      "Fuck it," snapped Yoji, "We never let the goddamn rules stop us before.  Why, damnitt? I think I deserve a goddamn answer."

      Omi bit his lip, thinking about how to phrase his words… "Manx came to Ken and I.  She said that just that year, they lost three assassination teams.  They investigated it and found out that they were lost because… well if one member gets caught, they all follow and try to save him.  Or if one of them gets taken hostage, they give in to the demands, that sort of thing… Kritiker came to the conclusion that, while a bonded team performs better than a simply-task-oriented team, they also compromise the mission in cases of emergency or capture, which are very real and constant possibilities.

      "So they decided on a trade-off.  Less but adequate performance from a less-social team is better than a dead, well-bonded group and a failed mission, so they decided to break up the well-bonded teams like Weiß and put the members in different teams.  But she also knew we would never agree to it.  So she threw in a deal."

      Yoji's jaw set, but his brows raised, prodding Omi to continue.

      "She said to Ken and I, that if we cooperated, they would move you and Ran to I and R," said Omi in one breath, waiting for Yoji's reaction.

      Intelligence and Reconnaissance.  While it was still dangerous, it was far less dangerous than assassinating.  He wondered why he hasn't been asked to kill anyone the past years… Yoji shook his head in dismay.  Of course the two bakas agreed to that.  That was the problem in the first place, that they all cared too much for each other.

      "Why didn't she come to Ran and me instead, to make the deal with us?" asked Yoji, after a long moment.

      Omi smiled a little, and his cheeks flushed just slightly, making him look wonderfully young again.

      "She said," he replied, "that since assassination was more physical, and Ken and I were younger, we had more years left at the peak of our performance."

      Yoji frowned.  Omi smiled wider.  He just knew the playboy would detest the idea of being told he was old…

      "I'm not even thirty and thirty's not so old," Yoji groaned, "I mean they should see James Bond.  And that dad-guy from Alias.  And… um… Andre Agassi.  Then again… younger and younger sickos are popping out of the woodworks... I never thought I'd get to thirty.  I'm betting Kritiker never thought we'd get so old too! I bet they sat through our birthdays and thought, 'wow, another goddamn year, aren't they ever going to die?'"

      Omi chuckled, his eyes glistening.

      "Damn," Yoji muttered, "say… where is the jock?"

      Omi's eyes dimmed, and he said nothing.

      "Jesus!" exclaimed Yoji, his heart pounding as he grabbed Omi by the shoulders, "you came over here to tell me he's dead, didn't you?!"

      "No, no…" Omi said, quickly, trying to calm him down, "but… I don't know.  God.  I came here because I need your help—"

      Omi paused when he heard the barely-perceptible sounds of Ran's footsteps just outside Yoji's door.  He watched the light underneath the door dim with a shadow that seemed to pause, then turn away and leave.

      Yoji waved it away carelessly.  "It's just Ran.  Does it every night around this time.  He seems always to be on the verge of knocking on the door and talking to me or what-not, I never found out 'cos he always changes his mind and goes away.  Every goddamn night for two years—"

      Yoji paused, tilted his head at Omi.  "You look sad."

      Omi quickly flashed him another tight smile.  "It's just strange, I guess."

      Yoji shrugged.  "I always think about knocking him out of his misery and opening the door and asking him what's on his mind but… well, its about time he seek one of us on his own, if you know what I mean… um… why do you need my help?"

      "It might be nothing…" Omi hesitated.

      "You came all this way," pointed out Yoji, "You might as well."

      "Ken and I weren't assigned to the same team," said Omi, "but you know… left and right you hear all these stories.  Just… savage killings, the kids in school think its some kind of animal… but I know different… I know it's him…"

      Yoji's jaw set.  "Shit, Omi… Ken was on the right goddamn track, those last days he was here…"

      Omi was chewing on his lip, and Yoji knew that what had just been said wasn't even the worst of this situation…

      "I work deeper inside Kritiker now…" said Omi, "I… I hear things… he is very effective, but they are starting to think he is dangerous.  Then I notice that first, they pull him from his team and made him a single operative… then they are giving him the hardest of assignments, maybe thinking he is very good at what he does and if he should fail, at least he is dead and the danger is out of the picture.  He always succeeds, though, and I fear… they may want to eliminate him completely, in more direct ways…"

      "You mean make him a target?" Yoji asked flatly.

      Omi nodded.  "But… I may be speaking too soon, I don't know… they consider him both an asset and a threat to the discretion of the organization… I don't know… what do you think? I was shit-scared, I couldn't… I couldn't really talk to anyone else about this."

      --

      "Fuck, Omi…" Yoji breathed, "Ken needs a leash... and you need to watch your mouth, you never used to curse."

      Omi shook his head.  "Yoji…"

      Yoji rubbed at his eyes, "I know, I know.  I am taking this seriously, I swear to god…"

      Omi glanced at his watch.  "I have to go.  But you know, now.  Think about it.  If I find something else out, I'll come back.  Talk to Ran."

      "Talk to Ran," muttered Yoji, as Omi vanished into the shadows of his room, then stealthily out of the window.  Although Omi was extremely discreet, Yoji knew the very moment he had gone, because his potent presence had vanished, like a ghost.  Like a dream.

      Were you even here at all?

      But the sick feeling in his gut was proof enough to him that Omi had been here, and he had said the things he had said, and… and Ken was in as deep a shit as he feared.

* * *


	4. Porcelain

Author: Mirrordance

E-mail: mirror_dance2@hotmail.com

Title: Bed of Roses

Type: part 4/6

Spoilers: generally, with references to entire series 

Warnings: drama, angst, language, violence, yaoi

Teaser: After two years of semi-retirement from Kritiker, Ran and Yoji return to action when they discover the new target is a murderous, out-of-control Siberian 

"Bed of Roses"

a WKff by Mirrordance

don't own anybody…

CHAPTER FOUR: Porcelain

      The wide warehouse was lined by a slim, second-floor balcony facing its center.  It was very typical of those sorts they had custom-built for high-stakes betting on fights, which would go on in the most brutal fashion on the floor below.  Sometimes dogs fought, sometimes these mechanical cars, though usually it was bare-fisted people fighting to the death.  The crowds would watch on the second floor, thick and exclusive they were, with cash changing hands quickly, as if blood-money was so easy to come by.

      Tonight, there were no crowds to watch, but the seemingly-twin shadows of Balinese and Abyssinian on the second floor.  Below, Siberian didn't fight so much for his life, but just to cause another's death.

      Balinese made a move to jump in the fray—Siberian was ridiculously outnumbered—but Abyssinian put a hand to his arm, and his grip was slack though his message was clear and granite: they don't interfere, yet.

      Yoji hesitated, but held his ground.  He looked to Ken, and watched as the younger man ripped through the defenses, the bodies… One by one they fell, and surreally smooth, he tore through them all.  It took just a few minutes.  He stood among the bodies like a dark god.  No one had been able to escape his wrath.  For a long moment, it seemed as if he was oblivious to them, until coolly, he turned around and tilted his head up to look straight at Yoji and Ran.

      "Yo-tan," he said, "Anyone ever told you it's impolite to stare?"

      Yoji grinned, threw himself over the railing and landed gracefully on his feet in front of Ken.  A closer look of the younger man showed that he had grown much paler, a bit thinner.  His eyes were some shades deeper, and beneath the right one was a fading scar.  Noticing that Yoji was giving him a not-so-discreet once-over, Ken averted his gaze and turned to watch as Ran too jumped over the railing and landed on his feet.  Ran stepped towards them.  He stopped about two paces away from Ken, until now, still two paces too far.

      The silence held.  Ken would not budge this time.

      "You look well," Ran said at last.

      Ken shrugged coolly, turned to Yoji.  "Omi put you up to this."

      Yoji grinned shamelessly, "You know him.  The rest we pieced together.  We are I&R, you know."

      "Well I'm fine," insisted Ken as he squatted next to a body and wiped his bloodied bugnuks on the dead man's shirt, "As you can see.  I'm getting out of here, it fucking stinks.  You wanna talk, we talk the hell away from here."

      Ken looked up at the familiar brick building with a feeling of nostalgia and unexplainable anger.

      The home he had left…

      He watched Ran walk loosely beside him from the corner of his eye. _I practically sold my goddamn soul for you…_

      But it was all just so stupid.  Did he want to be thanked? Did he expect to be thanked? It was a thankless _fucking_ life, he knew that long-ago.  And Ran was a thankless _bastard_, he knew that long ago, he knew that when he loved him.  He was just profoundly pissed at himself for hoping.  For having all these dreams at the end of all these dirty days that when they would see each other again, Ran would know that Ken gave him his freedom.  And he knows, damn it, he just doesn't seem to give much of a shit about it.  Ken hated himself for looking for gratitude in those frigid eyes.  And he hated this cursed place with all of its dreams and hopes and memories. 

      "You said we'd go out for coffee," he said to Yoji in accusation.

      "What did you expect?" the blonde snapped, "for us to drop by Starbucks or something?"

      Ken didn't bother to dignify this with a reply.  Actually he did know, from the very moment they decided to get out of the warehouse, that they would end up here at the Koneko.  But he didn't expect it to hurt so damn much. 

      He turned his back on them.  "I changed my mind."

      Yoji grabbed him by the arm, and it had been a profound mistake.  Ken stiffened and cringed, almost lashed out instinctively, struggled for control.  Yoji felt it too, so his grip slackened, eventually loosening completely.  His hand fell empty to his side as Ken walked away into the just-as-empty night.

      But Ken knew he would come back, eventually.  Just as Ran and Yoji knew this wouldn't end here.  It was like a sick game, and they were sick pawns of a life that was mostly a ridiculous joke.

      _At least I know you know me well enough…_

      Ken silently slipped through the window of his old room.  He had gone as far as four blocks, until he felt his old home calling irresistibly to him.  What would it be like, he wondered, to be in there again? To be in his old room, as the demon that he had once tried so hard not to become?  

Ran was there too, sitting on his old bed and looking at him, his pale skin glowing in the light of the moon.  He looked like he has been waiting awhile.

      Ken walked towards Ran and stood about a foot away from him, just a shadow, his face darkened by the moonlight behind him.  

      As it did earlier in the night, the silence held.  Ran wouldn't speak.  And after so long, Ken couldn't find it in himself to fill that yawning void anymore.

      Ran stood up, and they stood almost eye to eye now.  Their gazes held too, and the amethyst laser gaze seemed to be searching for him from inside himself.

      "Why did you have to leave?" Ran asked softly.

      "You would have too," answered Ken in the same lowered tone, "If it would have set me free."

      "Would I have…?" asked Ran.

      Ken shook his head, averted his eyes.  "You're right, I don't fucking know.  I can't presume you would.  But you asked why we left.  I told you."

      --

      "I used to play this stupid game," Ken's voice shook, "If I kept silent long enough, would you talk.  Would you meet me more than halfway.  Would you say the things that we both needed to hear if I decided not to."

      --

      "You never did," said Ken, "not until tonight.  I've won the stupid game after so damn long--"

      "Words, words!" hissed Ran, inexplicably annoyed, "They're nothing but useless goddamn words."

      "It's hard enough for people to understand each other even when they say how they feel," Ken pointed out, "much less when they don't say anything at all."

      --

      Ken sighed.  "But you're right too.  I was perpetually waiting for you to say something to me, when maybe you were actually showing me already and… it's all my goddamn fault.  Everything is.  Whatever.  It's too late."

      "Why?" Ran asked.

      "I don't know," Ken replied irritably.

      Ran's brow creased.  Ken was terribly pale in the light, like he had not seen the sun in so long… He looked like porcelain, and Ran feared to touch him, lest he break him.  Ran raised his hand slowly, so Ken would know it was coming, and he touched at the scar underneath Ken's eye.  It was fading, but also stubbornly insistent.  Ken flinched at the touch, but didn't bother to fight it, or tear away from it.

      "It's not as deep as it looks," Ken said quickly, "Really.  It will fade.  I patched it up myself.  And you can count on the bastard who nicked me being really very dead by now."

      Ran tilted his head, watched Ken's face.  Ken seemed to desperately fear that scar.  This might have been the last straw that made him turn.  The pallid Irishman from long ago had an injured eye hidden beneath a patch…

      "You look well," Ran said again--as he had earlier, except, he didn't really mean it as much anymore.

      Ken stepped back, and Ran's hand fell to his side.

      "I am," Ken said, "Tell Yoji to back off.  And if you see Omi, tell him the same damn thing.  I can take care of myself.  I went into this thing knowing what would happen, all right? So drop it."

      Ken exhaled slowly, calmed himself down.  Then he nodded at Ran and… left.

* * *


	5. Burn

Author: Mirrordance

E-mail: mirror_dance2@hotmail.com

Title: Bed of Roses

Type: part 5/6

Spoilers: generally, with references to entire series 

Warnings: drama, angst, language, violence, yaoi

Teaser: After two years of semi-retirement from Kritiker, Ran and Yoji return to action when they discover the new target is a murderous, out-of-control Siberian 

"Bed of Roses"

a WKff by Mirrordance

don't own anybody…

CHAPTER FIVE: Burn

      "Hurry, dress up," the whisper woke him, had him shooting upright with his heart pounding.

      "Omi," muttered Yoji as he groped his night table to turn on the light.  The younger man's graceful hands grasped his.

      "No, do it in the dark," Omi said softly, "They musn't think we've ever left at all."

      Yoji got up quickly and thought about what Omi meant when he said 'dress up.'  The tone suggested that "dressing up" meant to bring something lethal with him.  It's been awhile since he had killed anybody with his wires, but his watch was always just a hair away from his fingers, just beneath one of the pillows of his rumpled bed.

      Omi checked his watch, and looked at the thin line of space underneath Yoji's door.  As Yoji had said, Ran haunted the corridors of the apartment each night, always on the verge of knocking on the door.  If that was true, he should be by any moment now…

      True to form, the steps sounded softly, imperceptible to untrained ears.  The shadow stopped right in front of the door.  Paused.  Hesitated.  Began to turn away…

      Omi threw the door open and Ran stared at him, betraying very little hints of his surprise.

      "We have to go," Omi said plainly.

      Ran didn't even blink.  He nodded and stalked towards his room.

      "I didn't know until just about an hour ago," Omi said edgily when they got into his car.  He, Yoji and Ran went up to the roof of the Koneko, used lines that Omi had set up to cross to the roof of the next-door building, then the building next to that, then made their way to the basement parking where Omi had left a spiffy new black Aston Martin.  He tossed Yoji the keys and settled for the backseat.

      "Know what?" Yoji asked as he started the car.

      "They gave Ken that new case," Omi replied, "the diMarco ring.  You ought to know that."

      "Oh do I fucking know that," grated Yoji.  It was only one of the biggest cases he had ever done in his life.  It nearly got him and Ran killed going undercover.  The hierarchy was so intricate and the group so damn evilly screwed and wide-ranging it shocked even him.

      "They're practically an army," said Ran flatly, clearly implying that the mission was suicidal enough for one group, let alone a single man, as skilled and driven as he may be.

      "Ken knows it too," said Omi, "but he wouldn't pass it up.  Kritiker knew that he wouldn't let it go."

      "Bastard has a death wish," growled Yoji, "Would I ever ring his neck if we get out of this alive." 

      "They all knew," Omi said steely, "I got it out of one of the techies.  He said that Kritiker was pretty clever.  If Ken succeeded, great.  If he died, we got a troublemaker out of the fold, and can just try and get DiMarco next time.  I think he meant to slip, just to goad me.  He told me I really had a strong stomach to let my old teammate go out like that.  That I really must be a Taketori after all."

      Yoji glanced at Omi's cold face from the rearview mirror.  "Did you deck him?"

      Omi met his eyes coolly.  "He told me what I needed to know.  So I decided to give him a raise."

      --

      "Keep your eyes on the road, Balinese," Ran said quietly.  It seems they've all changed somehow, even Omi with all his youth who had always looked so untouched and innocent.  Tonight was the first time he had seen him in two years, and he looked at Omi and it felt like an eternity.

      "You know this building, right?" asked Omi, looking at his palm pilot, where he kept blueprints and maps and various other information.

      "Yup," replied Yoji, "Do I ever.  And I even know the layout.  The information came from us, remember?"

      Omi turned to Ran.  "Where would Ken go, you think?"

      Ran thought about it.  Ken was pretty traditional.  He would proceed with the mission in just one of two ways: either he would blow something up and cause a distraction and go after the target in the middle of the chaos, or he would attempt stealth and get the target quietly, in and out.  Ran would have preferred the latter; it was safer.  But Ken had always been upfront, and without the reins that Weiß had become for him, he was bound to be even more impulsive.  The first method was messier.  Had he changed enough to maybe prefer it? Ran thought back to a few nights ago, when Ken had savagely and easily cut up anyone who got in his way, and ran after those who were trying to leave, then wiped the blood from his bugnuks with a dead man's shirt, the victim's eyes staring into empty nothingness as Ken coolly used his tattered clothes as a rag…

      The dim sounds of an explosion rocked the near distance.

      "That's him," Omi said plainly.

      Yoji floored the gas.

      "Why don't you all just quit," Siberian drawled, pulling his hand out of another dead body, his shaking legs allowing the force to break his balance slightly, such that he had to brace one hand along the wall of the building's corridor to steady himself.

      "Your boss's goddamn guts are all over my fucking hand already!" he screamed, "No one's going to get paid anymore!"

      He launched himself at three more men, instinctively plunging his weapon here, there, knowing only by the feel of the flesh on his knuckles if he had hit home and ended another life.  He pulled his hand away, let the bodies fall, found something else—someone else—to stick his claws into.  It never ended.  There was just so many of them.

      He started to laugh.  What a ridiculous situation this was.

      He grabbed a man by the face, bashed it against the wall and hearing the skull break, as he jumped toward the next man, and gutted him, and used his other hand to tear the throat out of another obliging gentleman.

      He tore his way through his enemies.  Stumbling over bodies, he got up in a blink and added more to the pile that was haunting the corridor behind him, and everywhere else he passed.

      "I'm like a plague," he laughed shakily, tears leaking along the side of his face.

      The crowd was thinning.  It was about fucking time.  All this stench was making him dizzy, driving him crazy.

      He tried to plunge his bugnuks into the neck of a man who seemed to tower over everyone else, standing in a strangely familiar stance, but the man turned in time such that his bugnuks just ended up taking a nice chunk of the man's arm instead.

      "What the fuck, Siberian!" Yoji exclaimed.

      Ken jumped away, as if stung.  His brows furrowed as he stared at Balinese in his old mission clothes, with his wires.  

      "I—" he stammered, even more panicked and confused when Ran and Omi came running into the corridor from wherever hell-hole they have been this crazy night.

      "I…" Ken racked his brain, "I'm sorry.  Um.  They run out of faces after awhile…" He braced his hand against the wall.  "Waitaminute, what the fuck.  I should be asking the goddamn questions!" 

      "You okay?" Omi asked Yoji.

      "Yeah," Yoji answered wearily, "Let's get out of here, ayt? This place is gonna go any moment."

      "I don't need anyone covering my ass," snapped Ken, "Everything is under control.  MY control."

      Ran walked towards him.  With his tall frame and black clothes, and the forbidding expression on his face, he seemed to loom larger as he moved closer.  It made Ken feel as if he was they way he used to be; the Ken who would have followed this man to the ends of the Earth.  And then Manx threw a curve ball and Ken thought he could give the world to Ran instead.  But Ran didn't want it.  Ken burned with how much it hurt to have left, and how much more it hurt for his efforts not to be appreciated.  And now he just… burned.  With his pain and all his anger and madness.  His eyes burned with his frustrated tears, his throat burned by the lump lodged there, his heart… He just… burned.

      Ran stopped two steps away from him.

      He could have laughed.  _Until now, two steps too far_…

      His vision blurred in a poetry of red and black.

      Ran closed the distance as Ken lost consciousness.

* * *


	6. Bed of Roses

Author: Mirrordance

E-mail: mirror_dance2@hotmail.com

Title: Bed of Roses

Type: part 6/6

Spoilers: generally, with references to entire series 

Warnings: drama, angst, language, violence, yaoi

Teaser: After two years of semi-retirement from Kritiker, Ran and Yoji return to action when they discover the new target is a murderous, out-of-control Siberian 

"Bed of Roses"

a WKff by Mirrordance

don't own anybody…

CHAPTER SIX: Bed of Roses

      "Mmngh.." 

      He came to with a groan, thinking maybe the night has already passed and he had escaped the worst of the post-mission pains that came with his usual injuries.  But he hurt, alternately dully and deeply, and sharp and stinging.  He was half-carried by Ran, whose scent was a distinctly good combination of the organically masculine—yes, sweat-- and shower-soap.  He would know it 'til the day he died, for all those times before that the redhead helped him out as he was doing now, or the other way around.  

      His head hung, and he watched his rebellious, booted feet trying to bonelessly navigate the steep steps of what could only be the Koneko.

      "You've been shot," Ran informed him calmly, feeling him stir and awaken.

      "No way," Ken drawled sarcastically, "I hadn't noticed."

      Actually it was the truth.  He hadn't noticed it until just now.  His adrenalin had kept him going during the mission.  He should have seen it waning towards the end…

      Ran sat Ken down on his bed—Ran's bed, Ken noted—as the redhead went off to his bathroom's medicine cabinet, undoubtedly hunting for that first aid kit.

      With a groan, Ken braced his uninjured arm on the bed and let himself slide to the floor.  Blearily, he looked around Ran's room.  It was as sedate and un-lively as he last remembered.  

      "What are you doing on the floor?" Ran asked irritably when he found the brunette sitting on the ground.  He put the kit down on the night table and grabbed Ken's uninjured arm.

      "Didn't want to soil your sheets," Ken replied, but didn't fight as Ran pulled him up.

      "Lie yourself down," Ran commanded quietly, turning to the kit and organizing it.

      "It's your laundry," Ken said melodically as he let his head fall on the mattress.  He winced as his injured soldier complained at the movement.  He put his right hand to it and found it was soaking in blood.  His vision wavered again.

      _Not good…_

      Ran loomed over him with a pair of scissors.

      "Want me to try saving your shirt?" he asked softly.

      The nostalgia of it, coupled with his pain, brought tears to Ken's eyes.  He blinked at them, prohibited them from falling.

      "It's not as funny as I remembered," Ken said quietly.

      Ran looked away from him, disappointed, turning to the task at hand.  He cut expertly through Ken's shirts, and pulled the strips away from his broken skin.  Ken watched as the pieces of fabric fell from Ran's hands onto the bed, like cascading blood-red rose petals…

      _He loves me…_

      Another piece fell…

      _He loves me not…_

      Another piece…

      _He loves me…_

His vision shook.  He lost the thread of thought.  It shouldn't even fucking matter—

      He sucked in a breath and his body stiffened, as Ran gently pried his wound open wider, and used a tiny flashlight to look for the bullet.  Ran heard him gasp, so he paused and looked at him worriedly.

      It's those tiny crease in his forehead again, Ken noted sadly, like that last night… _God_… _if only I was the same person_…  

      "I don't have anesthetics for this kind of injury anymore," Ran said by way of explanation, "And I didn't want to give you two doses of the other sort."

      Ken wrinkled his nose at Ran, trying to find it in himself to joke, "That's very selfish of you." 

      "I meant it would have been dangerous," Ran clarified.

      "I know," Ken sighed, "I was kidding."

      "This won't take long," Ran lied.

      But he lied so well, with his sure eyes and his unshaking hands and his unflappable composure.

      _Its so tempting to believe you_, thought Ken, it was so tempting to believe all of this… _Me, on your bed_… it was like a perversion of an already perverted old fantasy… _maybe not so old_… he could still see it in his head, after all…

      But he didn't have the strength.  Not to make his fantasies real, not even to dream about it.

      Ran dug his instrument into the tender, throbbing wound.  Ken's fists clenched on the sheets, and his jaw set as he bit back a scream.  His grip on the mattress went a beat after his grip on wakefulness was lost.

      Yoji shot up in bed.  

      "This is like a fucking nightmare," he muttered, "Get the hell out of the shadows, Ken."

      Ken did as the older Weiß asked.  It has been almost two nights since the diMarco mission, and he was on his feet and ready to leave.

      "You know how unhealthy this is?" scolded Yoji, "Omi did the same damn thing to me twice.  Good thing I don't sleep in the buff anymore…"

      A smile teased Ken's lips.  "I'm sorry.  I thought you may have wanted me to say goodbye to you."

      "You hadn't before," pointed out Yoji, "Why now?"

      "I nearly killed you," joked Ken, "I thought I owed you one."

"It does hurt like a bitch," Yoji grinned, then let his lips fall into a frown, "So soon?"

      "It's been long enough already," Ken said, putting a hand to his red-orange knitted sweater and smiling at it beatifically, "Look.  I stole this from Ran.  He lent it to me but I'm hell-bent on leaving with it. I'm going to take it with me."

      --

      "Ken…" said Yoji softly, his emerald eyes glistening, "You promised me you wouldn't let go.  We barely pulled you out this time and you're still on the brink…"

      "Some promises we have to break," Ken said with a smile, "I'm sorry, Yo-tan.  I thought it was all for the best.  But I'm certainly trying my best to stop wigging out this time."  He held up a plane ticket, "Look.  Omi's going to 'vanish' me.  He's sending me to Oahu."

      "Where's that?" Yoji asked.

      Ken shrugged.  "It doesn't matter.  It's away from…" he waved his hand vaguely, "All this.  He told me to bring swim trunks.  Can you believe it?  We're all safe now.  You and Ran in I&R, and me in Oahu, and Omi behind his desk in Kritiker.  It did all work out.  Now I have to leave."

      "But there's nothing for you there…" Yoji pointed out.

      "There's nothing for me here," Ken lied.

      He looked up suddenly, towards the door.  It was about this time that Ran haunted the corridors and stopped by Yoji's door, always, always on the verge of knocking.

      "It's just Ran," said Yoji.

      "I know," Ken said softly, "I know how he walks."  And how he talks, and how he smiles beneath his seemingly cold eyes.  _I know_.

      "He's always just coming and going," said Yoji, "He's been doing that every night for two years."

      --

      "You look sad," Yoji noticed, "Omi did too."

      "I guess I never…" Ken shook his head, "He didn't seem to mind us not being around, much."

      "Well," Yoji stretched his arms over his head, "Now you know."

      --

      Ken watched as the shadow stopped in front of Yoji's door.

      _If you knock tonight, I will come to you_, Ken made a silent bet with himself.

      --

      He waited a few aching heartbeats.  But the shadow turned and left.  Ken's heart sank.

      "Now you look sad," Yoji said, curiously watching the play of emotions on the young face, "he looked just like that the day he found you had left."

      --

      "What do you mean?" Ken asked.

      "I'm sleepy," said Yoji, pretending to yawn though his eyes teased, "I thought you were leaving."

      "I was!" Ken said defensively, "I mean I am!"

      Yoji smiled at him as he sank back down on bed.

      "No matter what happens to you from now on, Ken," he said, "If you can't hang on to me, hang onto yourself, eh?"

      Ken smiled at him.  "I know.  Thanks, Yoji."

      Ran looked up from staring out the window at the creaking of the opening door.

      "I thought you left," he said softly, as Ken made his way into the room.

      "You would have missed your sweater," said Ken with a smile.

      "I'd have missed seeing you in it," Ran said matter-of-factly, though he averted his eyes, almost-shyly.

      It made Ken smile, and blush.  The heat on his cheeks was familiar, and old.  He often associated the sensation with Ran, and with the Koneko because it hardly happened elsewhere.

      "Anyway," Ran said, "You shouldn't leave too soon.  Your wound…"

      "It's not that bad," Ken lied, because it had been and even he wasn't fool enough to deny it.  There had been two shots, and they were very close to his heart.  Those diMarco bastards had been very serious about wanting him dead.

      Ken stopped two paces from Ran.  The redhead closed the distance without a second thought.

      "I thought you left," he said again.

      "I have to," Ken said.

      "I know."

      --

_Damn it_, thought Ken, wanting to scream and wanting to cry because here they were again.  Here they fucking were again.  Perpetually at odds.  _Tonight couldn't end as you are ending it… Tonight couldn't be like those other nights…_

Ran raised his hands and held Ken's face.  He leaned his head against Ken's, as if by sheer will and touch the other man could hear his thoughts, form the words that he couldn't, breach the inhibitions that he couldn't tear down.

_Hear me… Feel me…_

"I know, I know…" Ken said in a shuddering breath, his tears at last leaking from his lids and falling on his cheeks, down his face, through Ran's fingers.

"You don't have to say anything anymore," Ken said, _I'll be our voice_.  _It will be enough_.

"I love you," Ken said.

And Ran had said it too, in his own way.  Even with his seemingly expressionless, yet intent laser eyes and his still, sculpted face.  He pulled Ken closer and brought their lips into a binding kiss.

It was like the wind was rushing in Ken's ears, and it was so deliciously forbidden, at the same time it felt as if the last part of a million-piece puzzle had found its place; it was perfect and right, it was wrong and crazy.  It was the sun and the moon, and black and white, and _him and me_.

Ran's kiss had been deep, and desperate and breathless.  Ken returned it with the same amount of yearning.  It hadn't been about two men finding each other's bodies.  It was two people brushing souls.  The body was a burden.  He wanted to explode out of it.  He wanted to entwine himself around every piece of Ran's being.  He couldn't get close enough.

Ran's hands fell from his face, down the sides of his neck, gripped the collar of his shirt, poised to rip it open.

Ken pulled his face away from Ran's, tried not to laugh as he struggled to say "Don't… I like…" he evaded Ran's kiss, "…this shirt on you…"

Ran caught his lips again, and Ken smiled when he felt that Ran's mouth was smiling.  A low moan escaped him as Ran's lips moved from his mouth to his neck, to his collarbone.  He wasn't getting any further because of the _damned_ sweatshirt.

Ken's hands reached for the edges of Ran's white polo, tore at it until the slim, translucent buttons hit the floor like raindrops, or morning dew.  Ken's hands held Ran's chest, for an infinite moment relishing the feeling of Ran's wildly beating heart beneath his palms.  He pushed Ran's polo back, willing for the other man to remove it completely, and Ran understood and he let it fall to the floor as Ken held him closer and touched his lips against the ivory neck.

More clothes followed and cascaded to the ground in swirling pieces that curved and folded.  They were like petals falling from a dying flower; One by one the clothes fell, as Ran and Ken moved closer, kissed deeper, touched and held, and died onto each other.

Their breaths caught and hitched with the winds of the night, struggling to live and aching to die, until their bodies have shivered into emptiness, and laid still at last.

"I have to go," Ken whispered, watching Ran as he laid down beside him.  His breathing was even, and soothing.  His eyelids fluttered, as if he would wake.

"Pretend you're asleep," Ken said softly, running his hands through the chiseled, white cheeks, "I have to leave and I couldn't if you looked at me.  I couldn't before, and I couldn't now.

"Lie down and sleep," Ken said, _in this bed of roses…_ "I'll find you again.  And when that happens, everything else before that and after this night was a dream, and the only times things have ever been real was when we were together.

He kissed Ran's forehead before he rose.

"Good night, you."

THE END

August 11, 2003

VERY IMPORTANT NOTES:

Some disclaimers.  First of all, I'm sorry for any OOC-ness.  I've often been told that I get my characterizations right (especially with Ken), but I've decided to venture out into what-if's in my past efforts at writing fics (like in "Der Mensch" and "Escape" where I tried to write Ken as a machine and then as a man who is forced by situations to grow and control his passions).  They may be a little off, but I meant for the characters to have had some changes in their isolation of two years.  I'm hoping that I have retained their general personalities though. Chapter 1 is an old fic from May 2001 called "Heights."  "Bed of Roses" can probably stand without it and vice versa, because both began as different fics.  However, dealing with the same issues, I decided to merge them.  Those who have kept correspondence with me and was privy to the information that "Heights" had long been planned as the first part of a trilogy, might know that "Bed of Roses" is not the original sequel/continuation, but I thought this might be more fitting instead.  On the general feeling of the fic: This, like "Der Mensch" I had a hard time sitting with.  It hurt me to write it, for some reason, it was so distinctly heavy.  I guess it mirrors my mood lately.  I wrote this in little more than a few days, so I apologize for any problems you may have with it.  As usual, I recommend a post-fic soundtrack.  It's the acoustic version of "Could It Be Any Harder" by the Calling, which inspired me because its such a beautiful song and version.   On my debut writing some form of sensual scene: I generally don't like upping my rating because I want my story to be read by anyone, but I guess it's about time I tried this one out.  My other fics had yaoi, yes, but physical expression of affection had been highly limited because I had no idea how to proceed (up until "Fireside," a relatively old fic of mine but many had already come before it, I never even wrote yaoi because I didn't know how to handle it).  I feared to just dive into unknown territory, so I mixed the sensual with the poetic (or at least I attempted to), and compared the act with dying, being one with the world.  This mentality is actually supported by the psychological explanation for falling in love.  If you could spare the time, I could use some useful feedback on this department (as you could probably tell; my style is still very unpolished).  Chapter Six is a reprisal of Chapter 1 and Chapter 2.  I wanted to end the fic with a circular feeling.  Btw, Chapter Two is actually my version of sexual tension and a room filled with unsaid things.  Hope I conveyed that :) Despite all this, hope you enjoyed :) c&c's always welcome! Thanks! 


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